User blog comment:Brigadier Barty/Tavern of the Rusted Claw/@comment-26024035-20160423181424/@comment-3135907-20160610221601

With a creak of hinges, the doors behind him were swung shut.

Under the flickering glow of a candle lay vaguely illuminated an oaken table, fully clothed in a silk embroidery. The wall seemed of its own to move with the swaying shadows cast by the light, but other than the obvious, the room seemed plainly empty.